“We can state as a matter of cold hard statistical fact that there were far more happy real-life queer people and people of colour in Regency England than there were handsome eligible dukes. This is simple mathematics, because queer people and people of colour actually existed, whereas the number of desirable dukes can be counted on the fingers of one foot.”
the things fantasy writers REALLY need to consider when worldbuilding are fisheries and salt production.
what is the fishing industry like? who is fishing where, what are they catching, what currents and climate conditions enable this catch, and how is the fish preserved for trade inland? which areas rely economically on their fisheries? how have the fisheries changed over their history?
how does your fictional society handle salt production and trade? where are the salt mines and who owns them? who is producing sea salt and how advanced is their system of evaporation ponds? who is controlling the salt trade and what goods are they creating with salt to add value to the trade (salted fish, meat, aged cheese, pickles, etc)?
If you think about why any story moves us, it’s because of a quaking moment of recognition. It’s never the shock of the new, it’s the shock of the familiar.
Joshua Oppenheimer, the director of the Oscar-nominated film The Look of Silence, speaks about his practice as a documentary filmmaker, Whitney.org (2016)
how does art hang ‘gently’ on a wall???
it’s either hanging or it isn’t. a framed canvas doesn’t have the capacity to be gentle. I’d almost forgive this one if it was describing the content of the paintings, but no. Context makes it clear that the author is referring to the physical objects. 😐
I just had to explain what I was cackling at to my roommate. It automatically passes the Laugh Rule.
She found her reluctant fiance, Erstad, brooding out on the rainy moors.
“Is that a baby rabbit?” she asked, observing his huddled form.
“IT’S SIX BABY RABBITS AND YOU CAN’T TOUCH THEM,” replied Ernstad, contriving to look twice his usual size and at least three times his usual fierceness.
“Whoah okay damn,” she said, and backed away.
I have generally found that the title of ‘author’ claimed with an air, explains every little innocent irregularity of conduct or appearance, and even requires something of the kind to carry conviction to the lay intelligence. The present case was one in point, and when I said that I could only write in a room facing north, on mutton chops and milk, with a cold ham in the wardrobe in case of nocturnal inspiration, to which I was liable, my literary character was established beyond dispute. I secured the rooms, paid a month’s rent in advance at my own request, and moped in them dreadfully until the week was up and Raffles due any day. I explained that the inspiration would not come, and asked abruptly if the mutton was New Zealand.
“His austere features are striking on a ship that is brim-full of young, good-looking people.”
“brimming with” is fine. “full to the brim with” would flow better here. “brim-full” is a) spelled “brimful”, b) archaic, and c) sounds straight-up bizarre in that context.
I was so sure I was right that I went and made google fucking graph it to confirm my instinctual feelings. I still, stylistically, prefer “full to the brim with” despite unpopularity, but google does bear out my suspicion that “brimming” is the most common modern usage, “brimful” sounds oddly old, and “brim-full” has barely been used at all since the 18th century.
today in ‘homophone confusion theater’ we have an important distinction: HANGAR- a building that houses aircraft HANGER- an object with a hook, used to hang clothing (or similar)
if you have an “aircraft hanger”, then you’ve discovered a really innovative storage method for your airplanes ….and you might possibly need a bigger closet.
“[…] the same couch where they had made such abandoned love the night before.”
………….I think you mean “made love with such abandon,” my dear writer.
Although I must admit, your version certainly has a certain poignant charm to it. I’m kind of enjoying the image of the characters abandoning their love on this couch one night, like spare change fallen out of a pocket, and having to dig around under the cushions for it the next day. “Have you found our relationship yet, honey?” she’ll say. “no,” he’ll reply, “but I did find the remote, a pen, two hair elastics, the intangible concept of loss, and $2.75 in nickles.”
A Pretty Taste for Paradox 